


Making a Difference

by shadow_lover



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hero Complex, M/M, Office Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dealing with the escaped Circle mages and reporting to Meredith, Hawke decides he should check on Orsino. The First Enchanter ends up needing a different kind of support than anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Difference

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted at [this link](http://21-days.dreamwidth.org/2504.html?thread=245960#cmt245960) for 21 Days of Thedas!

Lying to authority figures was becoming quite the artform, Hawke reflected, with all the practice he was getting. He’d led Fenris, Varric, and Isabela into the Gallows to report back to Meredith on the escaped mages. A carefully chosen party—he wasn’t taking the mages anywhere near the Gallows if he had a choice, and he preferred to keep deception out of Aveline’s earshot as often as possible. What she didn’t know couldn’t trouble her conscience.

It was a bit ridiculous that the smut-writing gambler, the glowing elf, and the half-dressed pirate were his least conspicuous group of friends. At least Meredith seemed somewhat distracted by the tanned expanse of Isabela’s thighs—it kept her mind off the falsehoods Hawke was spinning about the one apostate being _definitely_ dead, totally not escaped.

All in all a successful visit with the Knight-Commander. The door to her office swung shut at their backs, and Hawke paused in the marble hallway. There was another door right across the hall. Currently shut, but judging by the light under the door the First Enchanter had to be in. He wondered how Orsino was doing and if he knew anything of what had happened to his escaped comrades. Meredith had sent Elsa off with a note in the middle of their conversation, and Hawke assumed the Tranquil woman’s message was meant for Orsino. All the dead escapees were dead, according to the official story, and that couldn’t be easy news during an already difficult time. The man hadn’t looked well the last time Hawke saw him.

To be honest, the man hadn’t looked well for the past three years.

So Hawke announced to his friends, “I’m going to visit the First Enchanter.”

“Want us to stick around?” asked Varric.

“I’m desperate for a bath,” said Isabela. She tossed her hair. “Or a drink. _Possibly_ a drink in the bath.”

Hawke shook his head. “You all go. I think I can handle one elf in a dress.”

As Isabela muttered something about _handling_ , Fenris scuffed his foot along the flagstone and said, “Alright, then. We’ll see you for Wicked Grace tomorrow.”

“Hey, that’s my line!” protested Varric. The group of them continued heckling each other as they exited the building. Someone said something about a booty call. Hawke found himself smiling behind them—call him soft, but he was proud of his mismatched gang of companions. They'd all come so far over the years. Aveline had settled down well, Fenris smiled more, Merrill hadn't brought up the Eluvian in three years. Anders seemed calmer, more focused, which _had_ to be a good sign.

Now if only the rest of the city would fall in line. Maybe Hawke couldn't force _everyone_ to get along, but he could keep tabs on a few more individuals. Steady a few more wavering souls.

Starting with the First Enchanter. Hawke glanced at the Templars guarding the entrance down the hall, but neither of them stopped him from knocking on Orsino’s door.

There was a long pause. Hawke was about to knock again when the answer came quietly through the heavy door: “Who is it?”

“It’s Hawke.”

Another long pause, then, “Come in.”

Not feeling entirely welcome, Hawke entered the office and closed the door behind him. The curtains were drawn back from the narrow windows and lanterns lit along the walls, but there was an air of darkness about the small room. Orsino stood at one of the windows, a narrow figure in shadowed robes. His black-gloved hands were clasped behind his back and his face turned away to look out on the Gallows courtyard. The merchants and Templars going about their days in sunlight.

“Elsa already gave me the news,” said Orsino, his voice strained, some deep emotion scarce concealed. His hand looked like a manacle, tight around his own wrist, to hold himself back or keep himself intact.

Hawke wondered, suddenly, what sort of man he might have been without a leash.

He leaned against the door. So Orsino had heard Evelina, Huon, and Emile were dead—and by Hawke’s hand. “I’d assumed she told you,” said Hawke. “And most of it was even true.”

Orsino stiffened at that, and half-turned. His profile in silhouette was dagger-sharp. “Explain yourself, Champion.”

“If you can keep a secret.” He didn’t feel the need to wait for an answer. “Evelina became an abomination and attacked us, along with the Fereldan orphans she used to care for. I killed her. Huon murdered his wife for her blood and turned on us—I killed him too. But Emile was just a boy running astray.”

“And what happened to him?”

Hawke held out his hands. Open, empty, far from his daggers. “I let him run a little farther astray.”

Orsino closed his eyes and let go his wrist. He seemed at once softer and less likely to break—and utterly unguarded. A man pulled from drowning, askew on the shore. “I should have guessed,” he murmured. Then, louder, “Thank you, Champion. It might have been wiser for you not to tell me, but I’m glad to know the truth.”

Hawke restrained himself from the compulsion to leap across the room and hug the First Enchanter. He was almost certain the main wouldn’t appreciate it—but he looked so lonely against the barred window. “I thought it might help,” he settled for saying.

“I knew Evelina and Huon were lost. They’ve had that look in their eyes for weeks. Emile, though—an idiot, yes. But idiocy shouldn’t be a capital offense.” Orsino took a deep breath, then left the window and stood behind his desk, fingers tight on the back of his chair. Behind the expanse of sturdy wood, littered with books and paper, the elf lost a great deal of that otherworldly sharpness. He waved Hawke over to the couch against the wall. “Would you like anything? I have tea, or water. Unless you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m fine,” said Hawke, in answer to both concerns. He ignored the gesture towards the couch, instead moving to stand across the desk from Orsino.

Now in full view, the First Enchanter’s face showed little trace of any emotion beyond exhaustion. His eyes were so shadowed they looked bruised, and his lips were pale and dry. There was surely more silver in his hair. 

"How are things back at the Circle, really?" asked Hawke. His urge to check on Orsino was clearly well-founded. The elf was held together by little more than tenacity and need.

"Your sister's doing fine,” Orsino said with a shrug. “She's been working with the apprentices a lot these days."

Hawke laughed. "I know how Bethany's doing, we smuggle letters monthly." A pause. "Pretend I didn't say that. I mean, how are things in general?"

Orsino looked away. "Things are... tense. Privileges have been revoked—little things, things you don't miss until they're gone, like ordering chocolates from Hightown for festival days. I think they're reading all of my mail now, not just some of it."

Hawke recalled stories he’d heard over the years, casual boasts from Templars, panicked fears from mages, horrified whispers from mages and Templars alike. Bethany’s latest letters mentioned how much she admired the First Enchanter for protecting the other mages as best he could; he served as a lightning rod for rising tensions. “Are you safe?”

Orsino grimaced, but his voice was matter-of-fact. “For now. They don’t dare hurt me yet.”

_Yet._ Oh, Maker. Before he could think better of it, Hawke reached and put his hand over Orsinos’. The elf shuddered but didn’t pull away. His hands were thin and cold, even through the gloves. They curled like claws around the back of the chair. “If you ever need to run,” Hawke whispered, though the walls were thick, “tell me. You can leave at any time.”

“I can’t. My people need me. It’s—a nice thought, though.” He flushed and met Hawke’s gaze for just a moment.

Interesting. The elf still hadn’t pulled his hands away. Hawke contemplated whether his early impulse to hug the man would be quite so unwelcome after all. Whether Orsino perhaps needed something more than a friend right now.

Well, there was one way to find out. He released his grip and sidled around the edge of the desk. “I get it. Really,” he said. “Just remember you’re not alone in this.”

They stood close enough that Orsino had to look up at him. He barely passed Hawke’s shoulders in height, and he lacked the presence that usually granted him the illusion of extra inches. Hawke found himself entranced by Orsino’s furrowed brow and bloodshot eyes. He felt warmer than a moment ago, and he could hear Bethany's voice in the back of his mind, chiding him for his fetishistic hero complex thing. Maker help him, she was right. He couldn't look down into such exhaustion and heartache without wanting to kiss it better.

Under Hawke’s scrutiny, Orsino’s flush spread all the way to the tips of his ears. “What game are you playing, Champion?”

Hawke flinched. “No game,” he said, and stepped back a pace. “I should go.” He’d been wrong, clearly Orsino was _not_ interested, and what the hell did he think he was doing, he couldn’t just randomly seduce the First Enchanter, no matter how forlorn and needy the—

Orsino growled, lunged forward, and pressed up into a bruising kiss. Any embarrassing squeak of surprise from Hawke was muffled by Orsino’s lips, his tongue, the sudden desperate rush. A moment’s delay before Hawke gathered up his instincts enough to settle a hand around Orsino’s waist and kiss back. Orsino kissed like a teenager—wet, too much tongue—and Hawke slid a hand into silver hair to hold the man _still_ so he could pull away for a second.

“I’m guessing I shouldn’t actually go, then?” he asked.

“I could use a friend right now,” Orsino confessed, voice steady though his hand shook against Hawke’s neck. “And I’d like to trust you.”

It was a good thing he had a more adventurous definition of _friend_ than most, Hawke reflected. This was far from the first time he’d opted for this brand of comfort. So he simply answered, “I’d like that too,” before pulling Orsino up for another kiss.

He took the lead this time, setting a more exploratory pace. When Orsino moved too quickly, Hawke tightened his grip on the man’s hair until he won compliance. 

Hands wandered; Hawke pressed a thigh up between Orsino’s legs and found the elf already hard. As they kissed, Hawke moved forward, crowding Orsino back until the elf was trapped between him and the cold stone wall. Orsino kissed back all the harder, clutching at the straps across Hawke’s chest to pull him closer still.

“Let me take care of you,” Hawke murmured, and hiked Orsino’s robes up around his hips. As the elf pressed wet, panting kisses along his jaw, he shifted his hands lower. He cupped Orsino’s ass through the cotton smallclothes and lifted him up off the ground. Orsino’s breath hitched and thin legs hooked immediately around his hips. Far too thin, even for an elf. Hawke worried distantly about leaving fingerprint bruises along his backside.

Easy enough to hold him up with just one hand under his ass and the wall behind him; Hawke traced the line of his cock through the thin fabric. Orsino hissed and clutched at Hawke's shoulders. Hawke kept his touch feather-light, savoring the twitch and jerk of Orsino's hips, the way he bit his lip but couldn't quite muffle his moan. "Careful," said Hawke. "Meredith's across the hall."

" _Not_ helping the mood," Orsino growled.

"Suit yourself." Hawke wasted no more time pulling the elf's smallclothes down around the tops of his thighs. He lifted his hand and Orsino spat into his palm without prompting.

Orsino jerked up into his hand at the first touch, and Hawke sensed he wouldn't last long. Orsino's cock was warm, heavy in his palm, smooth as he ran his fingers over the tip. Precome mingled with spit, each stroke was easier than the last. The angle was awkward and his arm was starting to burn from holding the elf up and the robes kept sliding down over his pulsing hand, but the small choking noises, the sharp smell of sweat drove Hawke through his discomfort. Orsino had clapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle himself. 

Hawke tightened his grip and stroked faster, dug his other hand into the bony ass to pull the elf closer. Thumb brushing the head, twist, almost—

One sharp breath and Orsino arched up away from the wall, his hand fell away, he went rigid as he spilled over Hawke’s hand and the folds of his own robes around his waist. His eyes half-closed, his mouth half-open—Hawke kissed his cheek and then leaned to bury his face in the elf’s neck. He felt shaky, as always, with the knowledge that _he_ had done that. He was the one to give even one moment of bliss, one moment when all the horrors of this city mattered perhaps a little less.

When their breaths slowed, he lowered Orsino back to the floor.

Orsino reached for Hawke's belt. “I can—”

“I’m fine,” said Hawke, pulling Orsino's hands away. He traced the small bones beneath the black silk gloves. Though he ached for his own release, for even a touch, he’d already lingered too long. “I need to get going.”

Orsino glanced at the door and with his next breath resumed the aura of his office. The transformation was remarkable—one moment lax and post-coital, the next stern and professional. But there was a steady warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there when Hawke saw him last, and he no longer looked quite so exhausted.

They straightened their clothes and bid cordial farewells. There wasn't much to say, but as Hawke left the First Enchanter’s office he thought that maybe he _could_ make a difference in this city after all.


End file.
